


Seeing Without Sound

by astronomical_alien



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fourth of July, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astronomical_alien/pseuds/astronomical_alien
Summary: It was the drop of a pair of scissors that gave him away. Peter, though a natural klutz, had reflexes that prevented him from being clumsy. Fumbling with scissors was an unordinary move as minor as it was.“You okay, kid?” Tony was quick to ask.“Yeah – yeah I’m good,” Peter tried to say but Tony’s question had opened a vein. Peter suddenly realized how terrified he was by the bangs of fireworks, how sad he was that Ben was gone, how tired he was of having so much trauma find its way into his life.He looked at Tony whose eyes were trained on him.“It’s the fireworks,” Peter admitted, finding it harder and harder to breathe.OR it's the Fourth of July and Peter discovers fireworks are no longer as fun as they used to beWARNINGS for PTSD and panic attacks
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 189





	Seeing Without Sound

**Author's Note:**

> Just something I wrote on the fourth. I have mild post-traumatic stress from a medical event that happened to me and writing this was very therapeutic. Maybe you guys will find some comfort in it too?   
> Enjoy!

Peter used to love the Fourth of July. It wasn’t as much celebrating the holiday itself he enjoyed, but it was lighting fireworks in his old townhome with Ben and May and catching glimpses of the annual Macy’s firework display on the water, or at least it was the memories of those things he enjoyed. Ben always got the Fourth off of work and he would help Peter make pigs in a banket before May would come home and They’d always spend the evening together. Really, it was the traditions their little family had made together that made Peter love the holiday.

This year however, the Fourth of July was a nightmare. Peter hadn’t really expected it to be. Last year had been the first Independence Day without Ben. It had been difficult with Ben gone, but Peter and May had made it through with heavy but hopeful hearts. For some reason, this year backtracked massively. The first crackles of fireworks in the late afternoon caused his heart to unexpectedly seize with panic. Each pop and frazzle of fountains in the street or pop-its being thrown to the ground sent Peter reeling to nearly two years ago on the last day Ben was alive. The sounds that he used to find fun and thrilling on the Fourth twisted into the chilling ghosts of a gunshot – the one that struck Ben down.

It was trauma Peter hadn’t considered, trauma that had never surfaced before. It wasn’t just the resemblance to the sound of gunshots, the noise of the pyrotechnics also sounded eerily like the rumbling of a building collapsing after its support was taken out. Every boom made Peter crumple like five tons of concrete were falling on him all over again. Trauma was stacking on trauma, plaguing Peter’s mind with every firework and he hadn’t seen any of it coming.

In fact, he had imagined the day much differently. The Fourth had fallen on a Saturday, the usual day set aside for Peter to go to the tower and experiment with Tony in the lab. Peter had crafted a perfect day in his head, spending most of it with May until five ‘o clock rolled around. Then he’d go to the tower, mess around with Tony and possibly craft some new traditions to help heal the loss of the old ones. The tower provided a great view of the city and Peter couldn’t help but think about forcing Tony up onto the roof so they could observe the fireworks together.

But now Peter found himself curled up on the couch in his apartment, May next to him rubbing a soothing hand on his back as he tried to drown out the sounds of fireworks with the TV, hoping not to give himself a sensory overload.

“You should still go to Tony’s,” May said.

She’d posed the statement a few times before, but this time it sounded definitive. May had found that routine and distraction were helpful for coping, so she had been urging Peter to spend the Fourth with Tony since it was already on the calendar. She wasn’t sure if it was memories of Ben or patrol PTSD keeping Peter shut in (it was both), but either way she knew Peter would function better _doing_ something rather than wallowing in whatever was pulling him down.

“If you want the day off to get up to some safe shenanigans with your friends, I won’t be too offended,” Tony had told him days ago.

Peter had almost taken him up on the cancellation offer, but he was glad he hadn’t. Maybe working on the suit and messing around with Tony’s new nanotech could keep his mind busy for the rest of the evening.

“Okay,” Peter said meekly to May.

It was only three ‘o clock, but the few fireworks that had gone off had already drained his usual boisterous self. He tried to ignore the sounds but with his enhanced hearing it was impossible.

His nerves settled when he arrived at the lab two hours later. The routine of walking into the workshop filled wall to wall with Tony’s music and seeing DUM-E in the bot’s designated corner trying to look busy made Peter feel better.

“Happy 4th of July, Mr. Stark,” He remarked, slipping into his usual demeanor.

“Yeah, happy America day,” Tony said with a touch of sarcasm, “My favorite holiday in which I get to see Steve Rogers’ red white and blue face all over the city.” He wasn’t really upset by it, but sometimes he liked to imagine a national holiday monopolized by the Iron Man icon, just so Steve could walk in his titanium alloy boots for once.

“You aren’t Captain America,” Peter pointed out, approaching Tony’s side to examine whatever the man had been working on.

“I’m glad,” Tony jabbed.

Peter laughed a little and from there their usual synergy took over. It was nice and kept Peter’s brain busy.

A few hours into their work Tony pulled up a hologram design of a new suit for Spider-Man.

“I thought you might want to take a look at this,” He said, spinning the blueprints around so Peter could see the suit concept in full. Notably, it had wings. Not bird wings, but flaps like a flying squirrel that could buy him some extra time in the air.

“You’re constantly making me think up new things,” Tony said, “I don’t know how many good ideas I have left.”

Peter didn’t bother masking his excitement.

“This is a great grand finale,” he joked, “Your final big idea.”

Tony elbowed him as he always did when Peter got a little too snarky.

“I really love it Mr. Stark,” He added to which Tony gave a satisfied nod.

The hologram was then dismissed, Tony pulling up a new set of blueprints for another project. “I’ve got a prototype ready,” He said, “I would have you take it out for a spin but tonight probably isn’t ideal.”

As if Tony had the power to manifest what he spoke about, Peter could hear a succession of booms kicking off the annual Macy’s fireworks display a few blocks away. Sunset must’ve fallen and the celebrations were picking up. Tony couldn’t hear them, after all the tower was a secure building and the lab had sturdy walls and windows, but that didn’t muffle the sounds for Peter.

He turned back to his own workstation and tried to focus on patching up his suit from where he tore it a few days ago, but explosions were growing in frequency, each one sounding more and more like a bullet fired from a gun. His hands grew clammy and shaky. He reigned in his breath, worried Tony would notice his jittery mannerisms. He tried to focus on what he was doing, but another firework went off and suddenly he wasn’t sure if the ceiling was getting ready to fall or not. It sounded like the building was about to come down or was that just another firework?

It was the drop of a pair of scissors that gave him away. Peter, though a natural klutz, had reflexes that prevented him from being clumsy. Fumbling with scissors was an unordinary move as minor as it was.

“You okay, kid?” Tony was quick to ask, head shooting up.

“Yeah – yeah I’m good,” Peter tried to say but Tony’s question had opened a vein. Peter suddenly realized how terrified he was by the bangs of fireworks, how sad he was that Ben was gone, how tired he was of having so much trauma find its way into his life.

He looked at Tony whose eyes were trained on him.

“It’s the fireworks,” Peter admitted, finding it harder and harder to breathe.

It was just the fireworks right? The building wasn’t coming down, no one was shooting a gun – but how could he be sure?

“Sensory overload?” Tony asked, slowly coming closer.

Peter shook his head as another bang pummeled his ears.

Tony stared at him for a moment before simply saying, “Oh”.

A sudden recognition flooded his face as he pieced together the possible cause of Peter’s rattled condition. PTSD.

“Shit kid,” Tony said softly, “I didn’t even think about the noise.”

It was unspoken that he knew why it was bothersome. Peter’s experiences with guns were limited but lasting. Piled on top of that were the memories of crashing buildings and vigilante work that all had auditory triggers resembling the pop of a mordor.

“Honestly I didn’t think about it either,” Peter said, letting the trembling in his body become more visible. “I was fine last year.”

He wanted to talk his way out of succumbing to what was becoming a panic attack, but the attempt seemed futile as his heart clenched and his legs started turning to jello.

“Last year your brain could’ve still been processing,” Tony said, only alluding to the incident with Ben – he’d learned about it from May – avoiding further triggering the attack, “And now you’ve got all sorts of stuff in there” – he tapped on the side of his head to gesture to the brain – “that can make a firework seem much more devious than it is.”

Peter’s cheeks started flushing. He couldn’t overcome the sudden wave of embarrassment crashing over him. He was scared of _fireworks_. The pretty multi-colored sparks that little kids laugh at. Peter’s eyes started watering. His breathing started to rattle, becoming harder to control, worse than before. The panic was taking over.

The timing couldn’t have been more unforgiving. Fireworks in the city were entering prime-time, filling Peter’s ears with pops, crackles, and distant booms. His brain couldn’t decide what to latch onto – Ben’s death, a building caving in on him, where he was in real-time, the actual fireworks themselves.

He started to lose himself. Involuntarily, images of Ben and the warehouse the Toomes had brought down on him flashed behind his eyes. The sounds of fireworks going off became more violent, redefined as sounds of danger.

He started to hyperventilate.

“It’s okay, kid,” Tony said, suddenly at Peter’s side.

“I can’t breathe,” Peter gasped, not realizing the words were pushing out of his lungs. He lowered himself to the floor as if the air would be easier to breathe down there.

His eyes screwed shut, trying to erase the images tainting his hearing. Tony left his side for only a second, fishing around in a workbench drawer until he found a forgotten pack of gum. He put a piece into Peter’s hand.

“You feel this?” He asked, making sure Peter’s hand wrapped around the stick.

Peter nodded, but it was hard to notice the sensation of the foil on his skin. He was losing track of where he was totally.

“Chew it,” Tony said, kneeling on the ground next him.

Peter peeled open his eyes and stuck the gum in his mouth after unwrapping it. Somewhere in his head, over the fear of bad memories and panic, his own voice tried to calm him by pointing out Tony clearly had a plan at play. But it was hard to listen to the voice because his brain was trying to convince him Tony wasn’t even there. He was in the warehouse. His hearing was proving the thought, booms of the building’s structural support crumpling meeting his ears.

“Just focus on my voice, okay Pete?” Tony said. He didn’t wait for a response before moving on.

“Feel your feet on the ground,” He instructed.

Peter listened and tried to notice how his feet were in fact flat on the vinyl floor of the lab. 

Tony let a beat pass before saying his next set of instructions.

“Now feel your chest moving up and down,” Tony said. He noticed Peter’s breath catch as the kid turned his focus to his unstable breathing.

“Take it easy, you’re doing good.” Tony said, voice calm. “Just count to three each time.”

Peter listened to Tony and his breathing mostly even out as he focused on inhaling and exhaling in counts of three.

“This next one’s kind of gross, but feel the saliva in your mouth,” Tony said and Peter’s attention moved to his mouth where he could feel his spit, minty and weirdly plentiful from the gum. The focus there was oddly calming, his breathing steadying even more, heart coming down from its high.

“Now focus on your thoughts,” Tony said, voice falling quiet.

Peter hadn’t even realized his attention had been pulled away from his thoughts. When he honed back into them, they were much more rational than they were only moments ago. He’d been grounded. He wasn’t on the streets of Queens or in an abandoned warehouse. He was with Tony. The noises he was hearing were just fireworks. He had nothing to fear.

“Friday, activate Recording Studio Protocol,” Tony said softly.

Nothing grand happened. Peter didn’t even think the protocol had done anything and he was starting to analyze the name for a hint when he realized all the background noise from the outside of the tower was gone.

No fireworks, no traffic, no bustling, none of the usual sounds that infiltrated the tower. It was all muted.

Recording Studio started to make sense – a place where you block out all outside noise to have a silent room to record a song.

Peter shut his eyes and let his head settle

“Did it work?” Tony carefully asked, knowing Peter was in a tender state.

Peter nodded, the attack finally passing. Tony cautiously placed a hand on Peter’s back and Peter leaned into the touch. Tony started to move his hand in small circles like May and Peter wondered if it was a universal tool for parents as he pressed himself against Tony’s side.

They stayed huddled on the floor for a minute, Peter soaking in the silence.

“I started messing around with sound proofing after the first time you had a sensory overload,” Tony explained, his words becoming something Peter could focus on instead of any remnants of his panicked thoughts. “Figured now was as good a time as any to test the setup I’ve been working on.”

“Works a treat,” Peter mumbled trying to muster a small smile as he rubbed a palm against his cheek.

He took a moment to breathe.

“I think it’s time we take a break from working,” Tony suggested.

Peter just nodded, a sudden lump growing in his throat. He thought of that image of going to the roof tonight with Tony and watching the city light up from the best vantage point in New York. It could’ve been a new tradition – one that helped him heal and move on. But now Peter couldn’t bare the sound of fireworks and he’d made a whole mess of the evening.

Tony guided them into the living room a floor above the lab. The windows were shaded and the lights were dim – Tony had probably silently prepped the room for a sensory overload just in case.

Peter drifted off to the couch and nestled in, feeling exhausted.

His eyes started to prick again when Tony sat down next to him, throwing a blanket over his shoulders. Although it wasn’t too cold in the room, the soft touch and gentle weight of the shroud gave him an extra sense of relief and security. He tried to blink the mist in his eyes away before tears could well up. 

“You know, I can’t listen to them either,” Tony suddenly said.

Peter braved a look at him.

Tony pointed to the arc reactor on his chest. “Ever since this happened, I can’t hear fireworks. Instead I hear things I don’t want to remember. That’s how I knew that four elements trick or whatever it’s called.”

Peter nodded in understanding. Sometimes it was hard to remember Tony was only human, that Tony also suffered from trauma.

“I’ve had to deal with PTSD for a decade,” He said, “It’s hard and it hides in the little things. Fireworks, TV shows, surprise parties. You never know.”

Peter sniffed, sitting with Tony’s words.

“I want to make sure you know it’s okay.”

Peter glanced and him and immediately looked away, feeling too vulnerable under Tony’s concerned gaze. He still felt a little ridiculous for what had happened. He was new to panic attacks and any sort of form of PTSD. But the vindication from Tony was slowly burning up the sense of embarrassment and turning it into strength.

“You’ve chosen a hard profession Pete,” Tony said, “It doesn’t get easier, but there are always people here to help you. Like May or Me.”

Its not like it was the best news to hear that Peter had essentially condemned himself to a life of hardship, but Tony made a good point. He was there. May was there. And they would be around to help Peter get through anything from the Fourth of July to saving the world.

Peter finally got a smile working, the lingering hollow feelings of the attack going away.

“Thanks, Tony,” He said softly.

“For what?” Tony asked with half a knowing smile on his face.

Peter sighed, letting all the heaviness in the atmosphere dissipate with a final breath. “You’re just pretty cool.”

Tony didn’t do sappy so Peter tried not to give him too much of it.

“You bet I am,” Tony said, nudging Peter’s arm. “Want Friday to put on a movie?” He then asked.

Peter nodded but absently said, “I wish I could watch the fireworks.”

“Why can’t you?” Tony questioned, giving the kid a pointed look, “The lights bother you?”

“No, the sound,” Peter replied in a tone that translated as ‘didn’t we already go over this?’.

“You can see without sound, Einstein,” Tony said, a mock expression of worry passing over his face before turning bemused.

Peter blinked at him and thought it through. The new soundproof design meant the bursts of fireworks were as quiet as snow.

“Fri, open the blinds,” Tony said, pushing up onto his feet.

The shades over the floor to ceiling windows on the back wall slowly lifted, and the glow of the city started illuminating the living room. Tony was moving over to the view, pushing the couch ottoman in front of him until it was in front of the glass.

“We’ve got the best seats in the house, kid,” Tony said as a way of beckoning Peter over.

Peter tightened the blanket around his shoulders and pulled himself away from the couch, slowly making his way to where Tony had plopped down on the footstool. Out the windows he could see fireworks popping up over skyrises. Across the skyline were colorful sparkles and bursts and each one happened without a single indication of sound.

His heart, finally steady, started to soak up a warm, content feeling spreading in his chest. The sight made him think of Ben, pulling up those happy memories from the Fourth and none of the bad.

Peter looked down at the fireworks, safe at Tony’s side.

Maybe they were going to have a new tradition after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
